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Sunday, May 22, 2016

My friend Lane McFarland guests on Medieval Monday today
with a Conflict excerpt from LINDSEY, Book 3 in her Daughters of Alaistair
MacDougall series. I love all the ‘Daughters’ but Lindsey is very special. If
anyone can come up with a way to spring a Highlander from English captivity, it’s
Lindsey.

EXCERPT:
The beefy guard waved his torch
toward the back of the room. “Them’s the beggars goin’ to trial.”
Twisted shapes of four men, their
wrists shackled to the wall and their feet barely touching the floor, came into
sight.
Lindsey’s chest tightened as if bands squeezed the life from her.
“They’ll have to be cut down, sweets. They cannae eat or git fixed up hanging
on the wall.”

The man swung his head toward her.
His lip curled.

Her pulse pounded in her ears, and
she trembled with rage. She wanted to pounce on him, grab his blade, and sink
it into his gut. Straining to gain composure, she turned her back on the men
and set her basket on the floor. Her hand trembled as she inhaled the putrid
air and struggled to calm her nerves. She must maintain her heartless pretense,
appear untouched by the savagery. Biting the side of her lip, she rummaged
through the jars and extracted the healing salves.

Chains rattled behind her. Thumps
of dead weight and groans indicated the guard had freed the men. As he marched
from the cell, he cast a look at Lindsey and slammed the door. The lock
clunked, and his booted footsteps grew quieter as he strode away.

Several men rushed from the huddled
group to aid their fallen companions. Lindsey hurried to the first man and
knelt beside him. She pushed his hair to the side and grimaced.

Logan.

Cora’s little bandits were correct.

His swollen face was blackened, and
blood caked the back of his head. “Logan, can ye hear me? It’s Lindsey.”

His eyes fluttered. Moans of the
injured men wafted around her. She jerked the basket to her side and brought
out a flask of water, a soft cloth, and a jar of salve. “Look in my basket for
more water skins,” she called over her shoulder to the other prisoners.

“Seems to hold a real interest in
them.” He grabbed her basket and passed out containers to several others. They
crowded around, snatching the bandages, salves, and potions she’d brought.

“Why?” she whispered. “What’s so
special about them?”

The man squinted and indicated
Logan with his head. “Collins couldn’t break him. I think that about drove the
commander over the brink. He wanted to deliver information on the rebels’
stronghold to the king. Infuriated him that he failed to do so.”

The man bent over Adam and helped
him sit.

While supporting Logan’s head,
Lindsey held a flask to his parched, cracked lips and dribbled the liquid into
his mouth. He sputtered, gulping at the water.

“Easy,” she said, giving him sips
while she studied his disfigured face. “I’m here to help ye.”

One eye was swollen shut, the other
barely open. His brown hair hung in filthy strands across his forehead, and a
red irritated gash crossed his grimy cheek. She sat on the nasty hard floor and
cradled his head in her lap. The medicinal salves would do little to heal him,
but she had to try.

Her heart clenched. When she’d last
seen him, the days spent with the fear of English hostilities and devastation
as constant companions had not yet arrived. The soldiers had not yet destroyed
her carefree way of life. They had not been concerned with the next raid or
protecting the clan from enemy invasion. Instead, Lindsey and Logan enjoyed
each other’s company, held the same love for horses, and had become fast
friends.

He groaned. “Lindsey?”

“Aye, it’s me.” Her voice caught as
she answered.

His good eye narrowed, and he
grasped her wrist, his grip surprisingly strong for someone so battered. “What
the hell are ye doing here? This is no place for ye, lass.”

“The Sassenachs are taking ye and yer men to the east coast in two
days.” She spoke softly to him while dabbing his grimy forehead and bearded
cheeks. “Yer caravan will not make it to the ship. Have faith. Stay strong. I
have a plan.”

BLURB:

Who said life was
fair? Certainly not Lindsey MacDougall. She rebels at a world dominated by men.
Dressed in lad’s clothing, she manages her father’s stables, caring for,
breeding and selling horses. Unwavering on performing her duty to the
rebellion, Lindsey throws caution to the wind and secretly delivers missives
behind enemy lines to the Scottish warriors.

Logan Ross uses
his happy-go-lucky smile to warm the hearts of many willing lasses, but it also
masks his pain—the pain of his birth. As a bastard son, he is unacceptable for
any Laird’s daughter, including the spirited Lindsey MacDougall. However, she
haunts his dreams. Determined to prove his worth, he throws himself into the
middle of the rebellion, leading men into mortal danger.

After helping Logan escape from a brutal English dungeon, Lindsey
fights her traitorous attraction to the virile highland warrior, vowing never
to lose her heart to any man.